Psalm Translations: Out of the deep

(Disclaimer: these are not all translations. It's just a small selection of words and music based on, or inspired by, Psalm 130.)

From the Book of Common Prayer:

1 Out of the deep have I called unto thee, O Lord : Lord, hear my voice.
2 O let thine ears consider well : the voice of my complaint.
3 If thou, Lord, wilt be extreme to mark what is done amiss : O Lord, who may abide it?
4 For there is mercy with thee : therefore shalt thou be feared.
5 I look for the Lord; my soul doth wait for him : in his word is my trust.
6 My soul fleeth unto the Lord : before the morning watch, I say, before the morning watch.
7 O Israel, trust in the Lord, for with the Lord there is mercy : and with him is plenteous redemption.
8 And he shall redeem Israel : from all his sins.

Thomas Morley (the best of a poor selection on youtube):



From the earliest complete English prose Psalter (here) - the Midland Prose Psalter (c1350–1400):

1. Ich cried, Lord, to þe for þe depe; Lord, here my uoice.
2. Ben þin eres made vnder-stondand to þe voice of mi praier.
3. Lord, yif þou hast kept wickednes, Lord, who shal holde hem vp?
4. For help is to þe, & ich susteined þe, Lorde, for þy lawe.
5. My soule helde vp gode in his worde, my soule hoped in our Lord.
6. Hope, þe folk of Israel, in our Lord fram þe mornynge kepinge vn-to þe niyt.
7. For merci is at our Lord, & at him is plentiuose raunsoun.
8. And he shal raunsoun þe folk of Israel fram alle her wickednes.

Orlando di Lassus:



From the Wycliffite Bible, c.1390s:

1 Lord, Y criede to thee fro depthes; Lord, here thou mi vois.
2 Thin eeris be maad ententif; in to the vois of my biseching.
3 Lord, if thou kepist wickidnessis; Lord, who schal susteyne?
4 For merci is at thee; and, Lord, for thi lawe Y abood thee.
5 Mi soule susteynede in his word; my soule hopide in the Lord,
6 Fro the morewtid keping til to niyt; Israel, hope in the Lord.
7 For whi, merci is at the Lord; and plenteous redempcioun is at hym.
8 And he schal ayenbie Israel; fro alle the wickidnessis therof.

'Ayenbie' is typical of the diction of the Wycliffite Psalms; it's literally 'again-buy', that is, ransom.

Orlando Gibbons:



Christina Rossetti, De Profundis:

Oh why is heaven built so far,
Oh why is earth set so remote?
I cannot reach the nearest star
That hangs afloat.

I would not care to reach the moon,
One round monotonous of change;
Yet even she repeats her tune
Beyond my range.

I never watch the scatter'd fire
Of stars, or sun's far-trailing train,
But all my heart is one desire,
And all in vain:

For I am bound with fleshly bands,
Joy, beauty, lie beyond my scope;
I strain my heart, I stretch my hands,
And catch at hope.



And a poem of the same name by the young C. S. Lewis (published in Spirits in Bondage, 1919):

Come let us curse our Master ere we die,
For all our hopes in endless ruin lie.
The good is dead. Let us curse God most High.

Four thousand years of toil and hope and thought
Wherein man laboured upward and still wrought
New worlds and better, Thou hast made as naught.

We built us joyful cities, strong and fair,
Knowledge we sought and gathered wisdom rare.
And all this time you laughed upon our care,

And suddenly the earth grew black with wrong,
Our hope was crushed and silenced was our song,
The heaven grew loud with weeping. Thou art strong.

Come then and curse the Lord. Over the earth
Gross darkness falls, and evil was our birth
And our few happy days of little worth.

Even if it be not all a dream in vain
— The ancient hope that still will rise again —
Of a just God that cares for earthly pain,

Yet far away beyond our labouring night,
He wanders in the depths of endless light,
Singing alone his musics of delight;

Only the far, spent echo of his song
Our dungeons and deep cells can smite along,
And Thou art nearer. Thou art very strong.

O universal strength, I know it well,
It is but froth of folly to rebel;
For thou art Lord and hast the keys of Hell.

Yet I will not bow down to thee nor love thee,
For looking in my own heart I can prove thee,
And know this frail, bruised being is above thee.

Our love, our hope, our thirsting for the right,
Our mercy and long seeking of the light,
Shall we change these for thy relentless might?

Laugh then and slay. Shatter all things of worth,
Heap torment still on torment for thy mirth—
Thou art not Lord while there are Men on earth.

A Prayer for the Evening

In manus tuas. Lord, I bitake in to thine hondes, and in to thine hondis of thine halwen, in this nyght my soule and my bodi, myne bretheren and myne sustren, myne frendes, myne cosines, myne kynrede, my goode dedes doares, and alle cristen folk: kepe vs, lord, this nyght, bi the medes and the prayeres of the blessede mayde marie, and of alle halwen, fram vices and couertises, fram sinnes and fram the fendes fondinges, and fram the sodayn deth, and the peynes of helle. Alyghte myne herte of the holi gost, and of thin holi grace: and make me for to ben more bouxom to thi comaundemens, and let me neuere more ben be departed fro the: so be it.


This is a medieval night prayer, preserved in a fourteenth-century manuscript from East Anglia.  Despite its simplicity it has a striking beauty, produced by the rhythmic effect of its calm, measured repetition: fram vices and couertises, fram sinnes and fram the fendes fondinges, and fram the sodayn deth...  It's a style which reached its pinnacle in the elegant collects of the Book of Common Prayer.  And there are some items of vocabulary which delight the ear, too: 'good-deed-doers' as a very literal Englishing of benefactors is perhaps my favourite, but I'm always pleased to see buxom in its original meaning of obedient.

A translation:

Into thy hands. Lord, I commit into thy hands, and into the hands of thy saints, in this night my soul and my body, my brothers and my sisters, my friends, my relations, my family, my benefactors, and all Christian people: protect us, Lord, this night, by the merits and the prayers of the blessed maiden Mary, and of all saints, from vices and desires, from sins and from the fiend's temptations, and from sudden death, and the pains of hell. Illuminate my heart with the Holy Ghost, and with thy holy grace: and make me to be more obedient to thy commandments, and let me never more be parted from thee: Amen.

Two men preparing for bed, from an illustration at the beginning of prayers for Compline,

 in British Library MS Egerton 1151, f.57v

For more translations of hymns and prayers for the night, see also:

Te lucis ante terminum: Various Translations
Christe qui lux es et dies
'I dwell, laid up in Safety's nest'
'Hail, gladdening light'
Rerum, Deus, tenax vigor

This is a setting of the Compline responsory 'In manus tuas' by John Sheppard (c.1515-1558):

'And in thy light shall we see light'

Three verses from Sir Philip Sidney's translation of Psalm 36:

Lord, how the heav'ns thy mercy fills,
Thy truth above the cloudes most hy,
Thy righteousnesse like hugest hills,
Thy judgments like the deepes do ly:
Thy grace with safety man fullfills,
Yea beastes (made safe) thy goodnesse try.

O Lord, how excellent a thing
Thy mercy is, which makes mankind
Trust in the shadow of thy wing,
Who shall in thy house fattnesse find,
And drinck from out thy pleasure spring
Of pleasures past the reach of mind.

For why? the well of life thou art,
And in thy light shall we see light.
O then extend thy loving hart
To them that know thee, and thy might:
O then thy righteousnes impart
To them that be in soules upright.


The same, from the Wycliffite Bible:

Lord, thi merci is in heuene; and thi treuthe is til to cloudis.
Thi riytfulnesse is as the hillis of God; thi domes ben myche depthe of watris.
Lord, thou schalt saue men and beestis; as thou, God, hast multiplied thi merci.
But the sones of men schulen hope in the hilyng of thi wyngis.
Thei schulen be fillid gretli of the plentee of thin hows; and thou schalt yyue drynke to hem with the steef streem of thi likyng.
For the wel of life is at thee; and in thi liyt we schulen se liyt.
Lord, sette forth thi mercy to hem that knowen thee; and thi ryytfulnesse to hem that ben of riytful herte.


And from the Book of Common Prayer (verses 5-10):

Thy mercy, O Lord, reacheth unto the heavens *
and thy faithfulness unto the clouds.
Thy righteousness standeth like the strong mountains *
thy judgements are like the great deep.
Thou, Lord, shalt save both man and beast; How excellent is thy mercy, O God *
and the children of men shall put their trust under the shadow of thy wings.
They shall be satisfied with the plenteousness of thy house *
and thou shalt give them drink of thy pleasures, as out of the river.
For with thee is the well of life *
and in thy light shall we see light.
O continue forth thy loving-kindness unto them that know thee *
and thy righteousness unto them that are true of heart.

Evensong at Binsey; Balm in Gilead

Last week I took a walk out to Binsey, which is a tiny hamlet about a mile or so from Oxford, the other side of Port Meadow. It's comprised of six or seven houses, a pub, and a church - the latter quite some way away from the village, down a road which leads to nowhere else.


Because the walk across the meadow is so pretty, it's a regular destination for people wanting to escape from Oxford into the countryside, and I've been there before, though never alone, and never for a service in the church. I wasn't really intending to go to Evensong that day, either. I just wanted a walk - to be out, and away from the town. And this was the easiest option: to get to Binsey you just have to walk along a long road, and occasionally there's a field with sheep, and occasionally a field with rabbits, and if it weren't for the ever-present roar of the ringroad traffic, you could be entirely alone in the world.





The only creatures you see around the church (apart from the rabbits) are the goats who dwell in a little pen adjoining the churchyard.




The church is St Margaret's, and you can read about its history here. The building itself, though ancient, is very simple, and tiny. There's a sort of general air of darkness and dampness that pervades it, but not at all in an unpleasant way: it's overshadowed by tall trees, and has none of the splendours which make Iffley church, for instance, such a treasure. Some fragments of medieval glass, and a big hatchment of the arms of Queen Anne, and that's all there is in the way of adornment.



This was exactly as much as I could cope with last week. They have Evensong here on Sundays in the summer months, and I can usually bear Evensong, however bad things are inside my head; its sober dignity is comforting to me in a way no other liturgy can ever be.


This was bare-bones Evensong, with a congregation of about seven people and hymns on a rather rickety harmonium, everything else straight out of the Book of Common Prayer. I can see why they only have services in the summer months: even by candlelight, at five o'clock on a July day, it was almost too dark to read the words in the damp-scarred little hymnal. But we all knew the words, anyway: 'Jesu, lover of my soul', and all the familiar responses. I never get tired of the unchanging words of Evensong:

O Lord, show thy mercy upon us.
And grant us thy salvation.

O Lord, save the Queen.
And mercifully hear us when we call upon thee.

Endue thy ministers with righteousness.
And make thy chosen people joyful.

O Lord, save thy people.
And bless thine inheritance.

Give peace in our time, O Lord.
Because there is none other that fighteth for us, but only thou, O God.

And most of all: Lighten our darkness, we beseech thee, O Lord; and by thy great mercy defend us from all perils and dangers of this night; for the love of thy only Son, our Saviour, Jesus Christ.

The simpler the music, the darker the church, the more the words stand out: the more they overwhelm you. I was reminded of my first experience of Evensong, when I was a teenager, in the ancient little church in the town where I grew up; there, amid tuneless music and an empty church, the youngest in the congregation by forty years or more, the beauty of the language broke upon me like a wave, and I sensed for the first time that there might be something real behind all the shallow childish religion I'd previously been exposed to. It might not be true, but at least it was serious.

Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy word. For mine eyes have seen thy salvation, which thou hast prepared before the face of all people; to be a light to lighten the Gentiles: and to be the glory of thy people Israel.





I went back to Binsey again today, mostly because I had started writing this post this morning. I neglected to mention before that Binsey is famous for its treacle well, supposedly discovered in the eighth century by St Frideswide, Oxford's own Anglo-Saxon patron saint. The well is dedicated to St Margaret of Antioch, and it's a 'treacle well' because in Middle English (from the fourteenth century, anyway) 'treacle' meant 'healing liquid, medicinal salve'. This one is famous because it inspired the treacle well in Alice in Wonderland:

'Once upon a time there were three little sisters,' the Dormouse began in a great hurry; 'and their names were Elsie, Lacie, and Tillie; and they lived at the bottom of a well—'

'What did they live on?' said Alice, who always took a great interest in questions of eating and drinking.

'They lived on treacle,' said the Dormouse, after thinking a minute or two.

'They couldn't have done that, you know,' Alice gently remarked; 'they'd have been ill.'

'So they were,' said the Dormouse; 'very ill.'

Alice tried to fancy to herself what such an extraordinary ways of living would be like, but it puzzled her too much, so she went on: 'But why did they live at the bottom of a well?'...

The Dormouse again took a minute or two to think about it, and then said, 'It was a treacle-well.'

'There's no such thing!' Alice was beginning very angrily, but the Hatter and the March Hare went 'Sh! sh!' and the Dormouse sulkily remarked, 'If you can't be civil, you'd better finish the story for yourself.'

'No, please go on!' Alice said very humbly; 'I won't interrupt again. I dare say there may be one.'

There is one, and it looks like this:


Treacle in the original sense always makes me think of this passage from Langland's Piers Plowman, one of my favourite bits of that poem and probably of every kind of literature, ever:

For Truthe telleth that love is triacle of hevene:
May no synne be on hym seene that that spice useth.
And alle his werkes he wroughte with love as hym liste,
And lered it Moyses for the leveste thyng and moost lik to hevene,
And also the plante of pees, moost precious of vertues:
For hevene myghte nat holden it, so was it hevy of hymself,
Til it hadde of the erthe eten his fille.
And whan it hadde of this fold flessh and blood taken,
Was nevere leef upon lynde lighter therafter,
And portatif and persaunt as the point of a nedle,
That myghte noon armure it lette ne none heighe walles.

It's difficult to translate this, because it relies on a whole vocabulary of medicine and healing which is thoroughly medieval and alien to a 21st-century understanding of those terms. Essentially it imagines God as a kind of life-giving sap, "the force that through the green fuse drives the flower" - a force so full of love that it overflows onto earth, heavy with power like a plant bowed down by dew, but at the same time as light as a leaf trembling in the wind.

'For Truth tells that love is the treacle of heaven: no sin may be seen on him who uses that medicine. And he wrought his works with love, as it pleased him, and he taught it to Moses as the dearest thing and the thing most like to heaven. And the plant of peace, most precious of vertues: because heaven could not hold it, it was so heavy with its own sap, until it had eaten its fill of the earth; when it had taken flesh and blood from this earth, there was never leaf upon a linden-tree lighter than it was, weightless and piercing as the point of a needle, so that no armour could stop it, nor no high walls.'

Vertue here means 'life-giving power'; think of the first lines of The Canterbury Tales:

Whan that Aprille with his shoures sote
The droghte of Marche hath perced to the rote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licour
Of which vertu engendred is the flour...

That sweet inspiriting liquid is what Langland means when he calls God, or love, the 'most precious of vertues' - the treacle of heaven. And that's the treacle of the healing well at Binsey.

It's odd that I should have come round to quoting that part of the General Prologue, because I quoted it the last time I went on a mini-pilgrimage to one of Oxford's churches, at Iffley back in March. On that day a whole number of things came together in my mind: the light in the church and the hymn; the blossom on the trees and the stained glass window; the animals' carol. And today it was the same. Because I was thinking about Langland's treacle, I added 'balm in Gilead' to the title of this post, for the sake of this song:



This is based on Jeremiah 8:22: "Is there no balm in Gilead? Is there no physician there?" And when I consulted Brewer on the subject of treacle, I learned that "in an old version of Jeremiah viii. 22, “balm” is translated treacle—“Is there no treacle at Gilead? Is there no phisitian there?".

It was raining today as I walked to Binsey, as it has been for several days. Between the rain and the rushing force of the swollen river, and the treacle well, life-giving liquid was all over the place. At Evensong we prayed, in the familiar petition of the Book of Common Prayer, for God to "pour down upon us the continual dew of his blessing" - most precious of vertues.




As for the 'leaf upon lynde' - Binsey always brings thoughts of Gerard Manley Hopkins' 'Binsey Poplars':

My aspens dear, whose airy cages quelled,
Quelled or quenched in leaves the leaping sun,
All felled, felled, are all felled;
Of a fresh and following folded rank
Not spared, not one
That dandled a sandalled
Shadow that swam or sank
On meadow and river and wind-wandering weed-winding bank.

Which seemed especially appropriate today, when last night I had been reading, and identifying a little too much with, Edward Thomas' Aspens:

All day and night, save winter, every weather,
Above the inn, the smithy and the shop,
The aspens at the cross-roads talk together
Of rain, until their last leaves fall from the top...

Whatever wind blows, while they and I have leaves
We cannot other than an aspen be
That ceaselessly, unreasonably grieves,
Or so men think who like a different tree.

And the reading at Evensong was, of course:

Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin: and yet I say unto you, that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.
Wherefore, if God so clothe the grass of the field, which today is, and tomorrow is cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith?
Therefore take no thought, saying, What shall we eat? or, What shall we drink? or, Wherewithal shall we be clothed?
(For after all these things do the Gentiles seek:) for your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things.
But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.
Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.


This passage has always been deeply moving for me, anxiety-prone as I tend to be. Last night, amid the wild rain, I was wondering if I'm condemned to that 'ceaseless, unreasonable grieving' that Thomas talks of, which seems to beset some kinds of people for no particular reason. 'Aspens' shows us one way to consider the lilies of the field. But after today, the trees 'talking of rain, until their last leaves fell from the top' spoke less of sorrow and more of Langland's 'liefest thing and most like to heaven': the plant of love, heavy with vertue, yet light as leaf on lind.

Unruly Wills and Affections

About this time every year I post this prayer, the Collect for the Fourth Sunday after Easter in the Book of Common Prayer:

O almighty God, who alone canst order the unruly wills and affections of sinful men; Grant unto thy people, that they may love the thing which thou commandest, and desire that which thou dost promise; that so, among the sundry and manifold changes of the world, our hearts may surely there be fixed, where true joys are to be found; through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Amen.

Hearing it yesterday at College Evensong, it made me think of this, a prayer of St Anselm:

Illuminatio mea, tu vides conscientiam meam,
quia "Domine, ante te omne desiderium meum";
et tu donas si quid bene vult anima mea.
Si bonum est, domine, quod inspiras,
immo quia bonum est, ut te velim amare,
da quod me facis velle,
da ut quantum iubes tantum te merear amare.
Laudes et gratias tibi ago pro desiderio quod inspirasti;
laudes et preces offero,
ne sit mihi donum tuum infructuosum,
quod tua sponte dedisti.
Perfice quod incepisti,
dona quod me benigne praeveniendo immeritum desiderare fecisti.


My light, you see my conscience,
because, "Lord, before you is all my desire,"
and if my soul wills any good, you gave it me.
Lord, if what you inspire is good,
or rather because it is good, that I should want to love you,
give me what you have made me want:
grant that I may attain to love you as much as you command.
I praise and thank you for the desire that you have inspired;
and I offer you praise and thanks
lest your gift to me be unfruitful,
which you have given me of your own accord.
Perfect what you have begun,
and grant me what you have made me long for,
not according to my deserts but out of your kindness that came first to me.


And that made me think of this:

We are all prone to love; but the art lies in managing our love: to make it truly amiable and proportionable. To love for God's sake, and to this end, that we may be well-pleasing unto Him: to love with a design to imitate Him, and to satisfy the principles of intelligent nature, and to become honorable, is to love in a Blessed and Holy manner.

Thomas Traherne, Centuries of Meditations 2:69.


This is not an art I've mastered; has anyone?




The pictures are unrelated; I took them last week, like them, and can't imagine another occasion on which I might post them.

Psalm Translations: Like as the hart

Today I'm going to post a few translations of Psalm 41 (42), best known from its opening line: "Like as the hart desireth the water-brooks, so longeth my soul after thee, O God." Let's start with the Latin version and Palestrina's magnificent setting of some of its verses:



1. Quemadmodum desiderat cervus ad fontes aquarum: ita desiderat anima mea ad te, Deus.
2. Sitivit anima mea ad Deum fortem vivum: quando veniam et apparebo ante faciem Dei?
3. Fuerunt mihi lacrimæ meæ panes die ac nocte: dum dicitur mihi quotidie, ubi est Deus tuus?
4. Hæc recordatus sum, et effudi in me animam meam: quoniam transibo in locum tabernaculi admirabilis, usque ad domum Dei, in voce exultationis et confessionis, sonus epulantis.
5. Quare tristis es, anima mea, et quare conturbas me? Spera in Deo quoniam confitebor illi, salutare vultus mei.
6. et Deus meus. Ad me ipsum anima mea conturbata est: propterea memor ero tui de terra Iordanis et Hermoniim a monte modico.
7. Abyssus abyssum invocat, in voce cataractarum tuarum omnia: excelsa tua, et fluctus tui super me transierunt.
8. In die mandavit Dominus misericordiam suam, et nocte canticum eius: apud me oratio Deo vitæ meæ.
9. Dicam Deo, susceptor meus es: quare oblitus es mei? et quare contristatus incedo, dum affligit me inimicus?
10. Dum confringuntur ossa mea, exprobraverunt mihi qui tribulant me, dum dicunt mihi per singulos dies: ubi est Deus tuus?
11. Quare tristis es, anima mea, et quare conturbas me? Spera in Deum quoniam adhuc confitebor illi, salutare vultus mei, et Deus meus.



This is the translation most familiar to me, from the Book of Common Prayer:

1. Like as the hart desireth the water-brooks : so longeth my soul after thee, O God.
2. My soul is athirst for God, yea, even for the living God : when shall I come to appear before the presence of God?
3. My tears have been my meat day and night : while they daily say unto me, Where is now thy God?
4. Now when I think thereupon, I pour out my heart by myself : for I went with the multitude, and brought them forth into the house of God;
5. In the voice of praise and thanksgiving : among such as keep holy-day.
6. Why art thou so full of heaviness, O my soul : and why art thou so disquieted within me?
7. Put thy trust in God : for I will yet give him thanks for the help of his countenance.
8. My God, my soul is vexed within me : therefore will I remember thee concerning the land of Jordan, and the little hill of Hermon.
9. One deep calleth another, because of the noise of the water-pipes : all thy waves and storms are gone over me.
10. The Lord hath granted his loving-kindness in the day-time : and in the night-season did I sing of him, and made my prayer unto the God of my life.
11. I will say unto the God of my strength, Why hast thou forgotten me : why go I thus heavily, while the enemy oppresseth me?
12. My bones are smitten asunder as with a sword : while mine enemies that trouble me cast me in the teeth;
13. Namely, while they say daily unto me : Where is now thy God?
14. Why art thou so vexed, O my soul : and why art thou so disquieted within me?
15. O put thy trust in God : for I will yet thank him, which is the help of my countenance, and my God.


Beautiful. So that's Miles Coverdale's translation of c.1540; going back about 150 years (to the last decade of the 14th century), here's a Wycliffite translation:

1. As an hert desirith to the wellis of watris; so thou, God, my soule desirith to thee.
2. Mi soule thirstide to God, that [i.e. who] is a quik [i.e. living] welle; whanne schal Y come, and appere bifor the face of God?
3. Mi teeris weren looues [i.e. loaves - translating panes] to me bi dai and nyyt; while it is seid to me ech dai, Where is thi God?
4. I bithouyte of these thingis, and Y schedde out in me my soule; for Y schal passe in to the place of the wondurful tabernacle, til to the hows of God. In the vois of ful out ioiyng and knoulechyng; is the sown [i.e. sound] of the etere.
5. Mi soule, whi art thou sory; and whi disturblist thou me? Hope thou in God, for yit Y schal knouleche to hym; he is the helthe of my cheer,
6. and my God. My soule is disturblid at my silf; therfor, God, Y schal be myndeful of thee fro the lond of Jordan, and fro the litil hil Hermonyim.
7. Depthe clepith depthe in the vois of thi wyndows. Alle thin hiye thingis and thi wawis passiden ouer me.
8 The Lord sente his merci in the dai, and his song in the nyyt.
9 At me is a preier to the God of my liif; Y schal seie to God, Thou art my takere vp. Whi foryetist thou me; and whi go Y sorewful, while the enemy turmentith me?
10 While my boonys ben brokun togidere; myn enemyes, that troblen me, dispiseden me. While thei seien to me, bi alle daies; Where is thi God?
11 Mi soule, whi art thou sori; and whi disturblist thou me? Hope thou in God, for yit Y schal knouleche to hym; he is the helthe of my cheer, and my God.


That phrase in verse 7, 'the vois of thi wyndows', struck me as extremely odd; how can cataractarum possibly be translated as 'windows', I asked myself? So I went to the OED, which is enlightening as always (under 'window', 3b):

windows of heaven n. openings in the firmament through which rain was thought to pour. A literalism from Hebrew 'ărubbōth hashshāmayim, which is rendered in the LXX by καταρράκται τοῦ οὐρανοῦ, in the Vulgate by cataractæ cæli = ‘the floodgates of heaven’ (Douay version); in the early Wycliffite version ‘the goteris of heuene’: cf. cataract n. 1.

And under 'cataract', 1a:

pl. The ‘flood-gates’ of heaven, viewed as keeping back the rain (with reference to Gen. vii. 11, viii. 2, where Hebrew has 'rbt lattices, windows, LXX καταρράκται, Vulgate cataractæ, the former prob., the latter certainly, = flood-gates, sluices; hence also French cataractes du ciel). This, the earliest use in English, is now Obs.

Obsolete - I should say so! But how interesting. So that's the connection between windows and waterspouts.

The other bit of linguistic history which this translation gets us into is medieval words for 'sad' - a nice cheerful subject! The Wycliffite translation perfectly illustrates the semantic change in the word 'sorry' since its Old English beginnings. Old English sarig means 'sorrowful, sad', though the word is actually etymologically unrelated to sorrow but instead belongs with sore (and cognate words from other Germanic languages have a semantic range including painful, sensitive, scabby as well as sad). However, to quote the OED once more:

Already in Old English [sorry was] closely associated with the etymologically unrelated word sorrow n. (and its derivatives), which occupied the same semantic field of distress and suffering... As a result, sorrow n. has exerted semantic and possibly formal influence on the present word. While cognates of sorry adj. and the related words sore n.1 and sore adj.1 denote both physical and mental suffering in early use (and are now largely restricted to aspects of pain), sorrow n. and its cognates primarily express the idea of mental and emotional suffering, and the narrowing of the present word to this branch of meaning has been attributed to its long-standing association with sorrow n.


You can see easily enough how this development would come about, and in the Wycliffite translation sorry evidently means 'sorrowful' - sorry is used to translate tristis and sorrowful to translate contristatus, so the translator obviously saw these words as related. We would not use sorry in this way today, but it's still comprehensible; perhaps more so than Coverdale's 'full of heaviness'.

That's not the case for the word our second medieval translation uses for tristis, which is dreary. This is from the thirteenth-century Surtees Psalter:

1. Als yhernes hert at welles of watres to be,
Swa yhernes mi saule, god, to þe.

2. Thristed mi saule night an dai
To god, quicke welle þat es ai:
When I sal come and schewen in sighte
Bifor þe face ofe god ofe mighte.

3. Mine teres vnto me þai wore
Laues dai and night þarfore,
Whil ilkadai es said to me:
“Whare es þi god? what es he?”

4. Þis haf I mined what mai be,
And I yhet mi saule in me:
When I sal fare in stede of selkouth telde,
Vnto þe hous ofe god to welde,

5. In steuen of gladschip and ofe schrifte—
Dine of etand þat es swifte.

6. Whi, mi saule, dreri ertou?
And whi todroues þou me nou?

7. Hope in god; for yhit sal I to him schriue,
Hele of mi face, and mi god ofe liue.

8. Mi saule todreued es at me;
For þat sal I mine ofe þe
Ofe þe land of Iordan, and Hermon
Ofe þe littel hille on-on.

9. Depnes depnes inkalles hegh,
In steuen of þi takenes slegh;

10. Alle þi heghnes and stremes of þe
Forth þai ferden ouer me.

11. In dai sent lauerd his merci,
And bi night his sange for-þi.

12. At me bede to god of mi life nou.
I sal sai to god: mi fanger ertou;

13. Wharfore, if þi wille be,
Haues þou forgeten me?
And wharfore murned in I go,
Whil þat twinges me þe fo?

14. Whil broken ere mi banes on-an
Vpbraided me þat droue, mi fan,

15. Whil al dai þai sain to me:
"Whare is þi god, whare is he?"

16. Whi, mi saule, driried ertou?
And whi todroues þou me nou?

17. Hope in god, for yhit sal I to him schriue,
Hele of mi face, and mi god of liue.


Now dreary has experienced a drastic semantic shift, somewhat parallel to that undergone by the word moody which I've discussed before (here and here). You presumably know what dreary means today - 'dull, boring, causing sadness or gloom', as one online dictionary has it. This is a considerable weakening of its medieval meaning, as you can see from its etymology:

Old English dréorig gory, bloody, sorrowful, sad, < dréor gore, falling blood, apparently < Old Germanic type *dreuzo-z; in ablaut relation to Old Saxon drôr , Old High German trôr gore, blood ( < *drauzo-z), and to Old Norse dreyri ( < drauzon-) gore, blood, whence dreyrigr gory, bloody. Generally referred to the verbal ablaut stem *dreuz- , Old English dréosan to drop, fall.

In Old and Middle English it can thus mean 'gory, dripping with blood' and 'cruel, hateful, terrifying', as well as 'sad, sorrowful'. From 'sorrowful' it came to mean 'dismal, gloomy' around the middle of the seventeenth century, but didn't really take on the weaker meaning of 'dull, boring' until the end of the nineteenth.

It continued to mean 'sorrowful' well into the nineteenth century; you may be familiar with the hymn 'Lead us, heavenly Father, lead us', written by James Edmeston (1791-1867), which contains the line, "Lone and dreary, faint and weary, through the desert thou didst go". The meaning here is obviously 'sorrowful', although that has not prevented various ignorant preachers (in my hearing) mocking this line for "calling Jesus boring". Modern hymnals often amend the line, usually to something stupid (one example is splendidly demolished here). This is a great shame, not only because it reminds us how idiotic people can be, but also because dreary is a dignified and heroic word and its previous meaning, though now obsolete in everyday speech, shouldn't be airbrushed out of our language. The word appears in Beowulf, for goodness' sake; are we too clever to sing it in church? Congregations understand that language changes; the chapel where I heard the preacher make fun of it still sings Coverdale's psalms (heaviness and all), so you'd think we could cope with dreary.

Anyway, that's my little rant over. Let's close with Philip Sidney's beautiful version of Psalm 42 (note that he also uses sorry):


1. As the chased hart, which brayeth
Seeking some refreshing brook,
So my soul in panting playeth,
Thirsting on my God to look.
My soul thirsts indeed in me
After ever-living Thee;
Ah, when comes my blessed being,
Of Thy face to have a seeing?

2. Day and night my tears out flowing
Have been my ill-feeding food,
With their daily questions throwing,
Where is now thy God so good?
My heart melts rememb'ring so,
How in troops I want to go:
Leading them, His praises singing,
Holy dance to God's house bringing.

3. Why art thou, my soul, so sorry
And in me so much dismayed?
Wait on God, for yet His glory
In my song shall be displayed,
When but with one look of His
He shall me restore to bliss
Ah, my soul itself appalleth,
In such longing thoughts it falleth.

4. For my mind on my God bideth,
Ev'n from Hermon's dwelling led,
From the grounds where Jordan slideth,
And from Mizzar's hilly head.
One deep with noise of his fall
Other deeps of woe doth call:
While my God, with wasting wonders,
On me, wretch, His tempest thunders.

5. All Thy floods on me abounded,
Over me all Thy waves went:
Yet thus still my hope is grounded
That, Thy anger being spent,
I by day Thy love shall taste,
I by night shall singing last,
Praying, prayers still bequeathing,
To my God that gave me breathing.

6. I will say, O Lord, my tower,
Why am I forgot by Thee?
Why should grief my heart devour,
While the foe oppresseth me?
Those vile scoffs of naughty ones
Wound and rent me to the bones,
When foes ask, with foul deriding,
Where hath now your God His biding?

7. Why art thou, my soul, so sorry,
And in me so much dismayed?
Wait on God, for yet His glory
In my song shall be displayed.
Unto Him a song of praise
Still my thankful heart shall raise;
He who helps my case distressed,
Even my God for ever blessed.


As well as Palestrina, other musical settings of words from this psalm include:

Orlando di Lasso's 'Quare tristis es, anima mea?'.
Settings of 'Was betrübst du dich, meine Seele?' by J. S. Bach and Heinrich Schütz
Mendolssohn's 'As the hart pants'
Handel's 'As the hart pants' (only part of which is on youtube, as far as I could see)

And perhaps most famously, Herbert Howells:



P.S. All the above links are worth checking out, but if you do nothing else you absolutely must watch this wonderful little video:

Psalm Translations: I dwell laid up in Safety's nest

This is a translation of Psalm 4, one of the verse translations of the psalms done by Sir Philip Sidney and his sister Mary, Countess of Pembroke. I posted their translation of Psalm 27 a little while ago, and you can read more of them here.

They have some odd stylistic features - notice for instance how much repetition there is here, so that we get all the following twice within single lines: hear me, God, men, lies/lie, your selves, sacrifice, just, peace/peaceful, it is thou... The effect is a tiny bit convoluted, in that nice sixteenth-century way, but I like the last verse very much.


1. Hear me, O, hear me when I call,
O God, God of my equity!
Thou setd'st me free when I was thrall,
Have mercy therefore still on me,
And hearken how I pray to Thee.

2. O men, whose fathers were but men,
Till when will ye My honour high
Stain with your blasphemies; till when
Such pleasure take in vanity,
And only hunt where lies do lie?

3. Yet know this too that God did take,
When He chose me, a godly one;
Such one, I say, that when I make
My crying plaints to Him alone,
He will give good ear to my moan.

4. O, tremble then with awful will,
Sin from all rule in you depose,
Talk with your heart and yet be still;
And when your chamber you do close
Your selves, yet to your selves disclose.

5. The sacrifices sacrify
Of just desires, on justice stayed;
Trust in the Lord that cannot lie.
Indeed full many folk have said,
From whence shall come to us such aid?

6. But, Lord, lift thou upon our sight
The shining clearness of Thy face,
Where I have found more heart's delight
Than they whose store in harvest space
Of grain and wine fills storing-place.

7. So I in peace and peaceful bliss
Will lay me down and take my rest;
For it is Thou, Lord, Thou it is,
By power of whose own only breast
I dwell, laid up in Safety's nest.




This is one of the psalms appointed for Compline, and therefore most familiar to me in this form, more understated but even more beautiful:

1. Hear me when I call, O God of my righteousness :
thou hast set me at liberty when I was in trouble;
have mercy upon me, and hearken unto my prayer.

2. O ye sons of men, how long will ye blaspheme mine honour :
and have such pleasure in vanity, and seek after leasing?

3. Know this also, that the Lord hath chosen to himself the man that is godly :
when I call upon the Lord, he will hear me.

4. Stand in awe, and sin not :
commune with your own heart, and in your chamber, and be still.

5. Offer the sacrifice of righteousness :
and put your trust in the Lord.

6. There be many that say :
Who will shew us any good?

7. Lord, lift thou up :
the light of thy countenance upon us.

8. Thou hast put gladness in my heart :
since the time that their corn, and wine, and oil increased.

9. I will lay me down in peace, and take my rest :
for it is thou, Lord, only, that makest me dwell in safety.

Running the Race: Charles Kingsley on Advent

O Lord, raise up (we pray thee) thy power, and come among us, and with great might succour us; that whereas, through our sins and wickedness, we are sore let and hindered in running the race that is set before us, thy bountiful grace and mercy may speedily help and deliver us; through the satisfaction of thy Son our Lord, to whom with thee and the Holy Ghost be honour and glory, world without end. Amen.

This is the Collect for the 4th Sunday of Advent in the Book of Common Prayer. When googling it to post here, I found this reflection on it, from a sermon by Charles Kingsley (published in his collection The Good News of God, in 1859):

For God’s sake – for Christ’s sake – for your own sake – keep that in mind, that Christ’s will, and therefore God’s will, is to help and deliver us; that he stands by us, and comes among us, for that very purpose. Consider St Paul’s parable, in which he talks of us as men running a race, and of Christ as the judge who looks on to see how we run. But for what purpose does Christ look on? To ‘catch us out’, as we say? To mark down every fault of ours, and punish wherever he has an opportunity or a reason? Does he stand there spying, frowning, fault-finding, accusing every man in his turn, extreme to watch what is done amiss? If an earthly judge did that, we should call him – what he would be – an ill-conditioned man. But dare we fancy anything ill-conditioned in God? God forbid! His conditions are altogether good, and his will a good will to men; and therefore, say the Epistle and the Collect, we ought not to be terrified, but to rejoice, at the thought that the Lord is looking on. However badly we are running our race, yet if we are trying to move forward at all, we ought to rejoice that God in Christ is looking on.

And why?

Why? Because he is looking on, not to torment, but to help. Because he loves us better than we love ourselves. Because he is more anxious for us to get safely through this world than we are ourselves.

Will you understand that, and believe that, once for all, my friends? God is not against you but for you, in all the struggles of life; He wants you to get through safe; wants you to succeed; wants you to conquer; and He will hear your cry out of the deep and help you.

And therefore when you find yourselves wrong, utterly wrong, do not cry to this man or that man, "Do you help me; do you set me a little more right before God comes, and finds me in the wrong and punishes me." Cry to God Himself, to Christ Himself; ask Him to lift you up; ask Him to set you right. Do not be like St. Peter before his conversion, and cry, "Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord; wait a little till I have risen up, and washed off my stains, and made myself somewhat fit to be seen."—No. Cry, "Come quickly, O Lord—at once—just because I am a sinful man; just because I am sore let and hindered in running my race by my own sins and wickedness; because I am lazy and stupid; because I am perverse and vicious, therefore raise up Thy power, and come to me, Thy miserable creature, Thy lost child, and with Thy great might succour me. Lift me up, because I have fallen very low; deliver me, for I have plunged out of Thy sound and safe highway into deep mire where no ground is. Help myself I cannot, and if Thou help me not, I am undone."

Do so. Pray so. Let your sins and wickedness be to you not a reason for hiding from Christ, who stands by; but a reason, the reason of all reasons, for crying to Christ, who stands by. And then, whether He delivers you by gentle means or by sharp ones, deliver you He will, and set your feet on firm ground, and order your goings, that you may run with patience the race which is set before you along the road of life and the pathway of God's commandments wherein there is no death.

This, my friends, is one of the meanings of Advent. This is the meaning of the Collect, the Epistle, and the Gospel. – That God in Christ stands by us, ready to help and deliver us; and that if we cry to him even out of the lowest depth, he will hear our voice. And that then, when he has once put us into the right road again, and sees us going bravely along it to the best of the power which he has given us, he will fulfil to us his eternal promise, "Thy sins – and not only thy sins, but thine iniquities – I will remember no more."

N.B. the Epistle for the 4th Sunday of Advent, to which he refers, is Philippians 4.4-7 ('Rejoice in the Lord alway') and the Gospel is John 1.19-28.

The picture is Fritz von Uhde's 1890 painting 'The Hard Path (The Road to Bethlehem)', a translation of the German title, 'Schwerer Gang'.

Collect

The Collect for this week, the fourth after Trinity, is one of my favourites:


O God, the protector of all that trust in thee, without whom nothing is strong, nothing is holy; Increase and multiply upon us thy mercy; that, thou being our ruler and guide, we may so pass through things temporal, that we finally lose not the things eternal: Grant this, O heavenly Father, for Jesus Christ's sake our Lord. Amen.

Psalm Translations: The Lord is my light

Psalm 27 is appointed for the fifth evening of the month, and so here are some various translations of it. This is one of my favourite psalms and, as I've said before, the source of the motto of the University of Oxford, so it seems a fitting place to start an occasional mini series on medieval psalm translations.

So for a reminder, here's the Book of Common Prayer version:

1. The Lord is my light, and my salvation; whom then shall I fear :
the Lord is the strength of my life; of whom then shall I be afraid?

2. When the wicked, even mine enemies, and my foes, came upon me to eat up my flesh :
they stumbled and fell.

3. Though an host of men were laid against me, yet shall not my heart be afraid :
and though there rose up war against me, yet will I put my trust in him.

4. One thing have I desired of the Lord, which I will require :
even that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold the fair beauty of the Lord, and to visit his temple.

5. For in the time of trouble he shall hide me in his tabernacle :
yea, in the secret place of his dwelling shall he hide me, and set me up upon a rock of stone.

6. And now shall he lift up mine head :
above mine enemies round about me.

7. Therefore will I offer in his dwelling an oblation with great gladness
: I will sing, and speak praises unto the Lord.

8. Hearken unto my voice, O Lord, when I cry unto thee :
have mercy upon me, and hear me.

9. My heart hath talked of thee, Seek ye my face :
Thy face, Lord, will I seek.

10. O hide not thou thy face from me :
nor cast thy servant away in displeasure.

11. Thou hast been my succour :
leave me not, neither forsake me, O God of my salvation.

12. When my father and my mother forsake me :
the Lord taketh me up.

13. Teach me thy way, O Lord :
and lead me in the right way, because of mine enemies.

14. Deliver me not over into the will of mine adversaries :
for there are false witnesses risen up against me, and such as speak wrong.

15. I should utterly have fainted :
but that I believe verily to see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.

16. O tarry thou the Lord’s leisure :
be strong, and he shall comfort thine heart; and put thou thy trust in the Lord.


I couldn't find any Old English versions of this psalm, nor access Rolle's commentary on it; but here's the version from the Wycliffe Bible, from the end of the fourteenth century. Emphasis for the things which struck me:

1. The Lord is my liytnyng, and myn helthe; whom schal Y drede? The Lord is defendere of my lijf; for whom schal Y tremble?

['lightening'! Isn't that great? Of course it's in the sense of 'something which lightens' rather than, you know, like you get in a thunderstorm; but it's still a great choice of word.]

2. The while noiful men neiyen on me; for to ete my fleischis. Myn enemyes, that trobliden me; thei weren maad sijk and felden doun.

[nice alliteration. 'noiful' is, as you may be able to guess, related to annoying. And 'neiyen' is draw nigh.]

3. Thouy castels stonden togidere ayens me; myn herte schal not drede. Thouy batel risith ayens me; in this thing Y schal haue hope.

4. I axide of the Lord o thing; Y schal seke this thing; that Y dwelle in the hows of the Lord alle the daies of my lijf. That Y se the wille of the Lord; and that Y visite his temple.

[observe how close the bolded phrase is to the BCP version, which is a literary descendant of the Wycliffite Bible]

5. For he hidde me in his tabernacle in the dai of yuelis; he defendide me in the hid place of his tabernacle.

6. He enhaunside me in a stoon; and now he enhaunside myn heed ouer myn enemyes. I cumpasside, and offride in his tabernacle a sacrifice of criyng; Y schal synge, and Y schal seie salm to the Lord.

7. Lord, here thou my vois, bi which Y criede to thee; haue thou merci on me, and here me.

8. Myn herte seide to thee, My face souyte thee; Lord, Y schal seke eft thi face.

9. Turne thou not awei thi face fro me; bouwe thou not awei in ire fro thi seruaunt. Lord, be thou myn helpere, forsake thou not me; and, God, myn helthe, dispise thou not me.

10. For my fadir and my modir han forsake me; but the Lord hath take me.

11. Lord, sette thou a lawe to me in thi weie; and dresse thou me in thi path for myn enemyes.

12. Bitake thou not me in to the soules of hem, that troblen me; for wickid witnessis han rise ayens me, and wickydnesse liede to it silf.

13. I bileue to see the goodis of the Lord; in the lond of `hem that lyuen.
14. Abide thou the Lord, do thou manli; and thin herte be coumfortid, and suffre thou the Lord.
[be 'manly'! In the sense of 'brave, resolute', of course; a translation of the Vulgate's Latin 'viriliter', for which the BCP chooses 'strong'.]

The psalm in Latin and English, from British Library, Harley 1896

The next translation is a metrical version, earlier than the Wycliffite Bible by about a century, and from Yorkshire. It's from the Surtees Psalter, which is online here. If you want to read it in a Yorkshire accent, that would probably help.

1. Lauerd mi lightinge es in lede,
And mi hele; wham i sal drede?

2. Lauerd forhiler of mi life;
For whate sal [i] quake, swerde or knife?

3. Whil neghes ouer me derand,
To ete mi flesche fote and hand,

4. Þat droues me mi faas þat are
Þai are vnfeste and felle sare.

5. Ife stand ogaines me kastelles ma,
Noght drede sal mi hert for þa;

6. Ife vprise ogaine me fighte,
In þat sal i hope in mighte.

7. Life ofe lauerd asked i,
Þat sal .i. seke inwardeli:
Þat [i] wone hous ofe lauerd ine
Alle þe daies ofe life mine,

[ditto to the above note.]

8. Þat i se wille of lauerd swa,
And seke his kirke in forto ga.

[note 'kirke' for tabernacle, here as in the next verse; and if you have a scholarly interest in these things, you may be interested in this article.]

9. For he hide me in his kirke in iuels dai,
He hiled me in hidel ofe his telde ai;

10. In stane heghed me on-ane,
And nou heghed mi heued ouer mi fane.

11. I vmyhode, and offrede in telde hisse
Offrand ofe berand steuen þat isse;
I sal singe bi night and daie,
And salme to lauerd sal i saie.

12. Here, lauerd, mi steuen, þat i crie to þe;
Hafe merci ofe me, and here me.

13. To þe mi hert saide: “þe soght face mine;
I sal seke, lauerd, to face þine”.

14. Ne turne þine anleth me fra;
Ne helde in wreth fra þi hine swa.

15. Mi helper be; ne me forlete,
Ne me forse, god mi hele swete.

[this is a nice rhyme. 'forse' = 'forsake']

16. For mi fader and mi moder me forsoke þai;
Lauerd sothlike vptoke me ai.

17. Lagh set to me, lauerd, in waieþine,
And right me in right stiyhe, for faes myne.

18. Ne hafe giuen me onhande
In saules ofe me drouande;
For in me raas wicked witnes,
And leghed to þam þair wickenes.

19. I leue godes of lauerd to se
In þe land ofe liuande be.

[note that here we already have the famous phrase 'land of the living'. So you can be a little sceptical when, in this King James Version anniversary year, you hear well-meaning people listing all the phrases the KJV has given to the world and including 'land of the living' among them (as for instance in this BBC article, despite David Crystal's warning in the very next sentence). The Vulgate Latin, by the way, is 'in terra viventium'.]

20. Abide lauerd, manlike do nou,
And strenþhed be þi hert, and lauerd vphald þou.

Manly again!

Moving on from the medieval examples, you know who else did a metrical translation of the psalms? Lovely Philip Sidney, and his amazing sister Mary, Countess of Pembroke. They are a very cool pair of literary siblings, and their version of the psalms was praised by John Donne (in this poem), so you know it's good. Here's what they (possibly just Philip, since this is one of the early psalms) did with Psalm 27:

1. The shining Lord He is my light,
The strong God my salvation is,
Who shall be able me to fright?
This Lord with strength my life doth blisse;
And shall I then
Feare might of men?

2. When wicked folk, even they that be
My foes, to utmost of their pow'r,
With rageing jawes environ me,
My very flesh for to devoure,
They stumble so,
That down they go.

3. Then though against me arrays were,
My courage should not be dismaid;
Though battaile's brunt I needs must beare,
While battaile's brunt on me were laid,
In this I would
My trust still hold.

4. One thing in deed I did, and will
For euer craue: that dwell I may
In house of high Jehova still,
On beauty His my eyes to stay,
And look into
His temple too.

5. For when great griefes to me be ment,
In tabernacle His I will
Hide me, ev'n closely in His tent
Yea, noble hight of rocky hill
He makes to be
A seat for me.

6. Now, now shall He lift vp my head
On my beseiging enemyes;
So shall I sacrifices spred,
Offrings of joy in Temple His,
And songes accord,
To prayse the Lord.

7. Heare, Lord, when I my voice display,
Heare to haue mercy eke on me;
'Seek ye My face,' when Thou didst say,
In truth of heart I answerd Thee:
O Lord, I will
Seek Thy face still.

8. Hide not therfore from me that face,
Since all my ayd in Thee I got;
In rage Thy servant do not chase,
Forsake not me, O, leaue me not,
O God of my
Salvation high.

9. Though father's care and mother's loue
Abandond me, yet my decay
Should be restor'd by Him aboue:
Teach, Lord, Lord, lead me Thy right way,
Because of those
That be my foes.

10. Vnto whose ever hating lust,
Oh, giue me not, for there are sproong
Against me witnesses unjust,
Ev'n such, I say, whose lying tongue
Fiercly affords
Most cruel words.

11. What had I been, except I had
Beleivd God's goodness for to see,
In land with living creatures clad?
Hope, trust in God, bee strong, and He
Unto thy hart
Shall joy impart.


The last verse, being the most beautiful sentiment, makes the most beautiful poetry. (Although can he really have meant 'clad'? How can a land be 'clad' with living creatures? That puzzles me. And the word order he uses a few times, 'tabernacle His', 'temple His', 'beauty His', strikes me as extremely strange. You almost never see that in English verse. But that last verse is so lovely!)

For other metrical translations, see:
Isaac Watts
A version from the Scottish Psalter of 1650

For the means of grace and for the hope of glory

The 'General Thanksgiving' from the Book of Common Prayer:

Almighty God, Father of all mercies, we your unworthy servants give you humble thanks for all your goodness and loving-kindness to us and to all whom you have made. We bless you for our creation, preservation, and all the blessings of this life; but above all for your immeasurable love in the redemption of the world by our Lord Jesus Christ; for the means of grace, and for the hope of glory. And, we pray, give us such an awareness of your mercies, that with truly thankful hearts we may show forth your praise, not only with our lips, but in our lives, by giving up our selves to your service, and by walking before you in holiness and righteousness all our days; through Jesus Christ our Lord, to whom, with you and the Holy Spirit, be honor and glory throughout all ages. Amen.

The sundry and manifold changes of the world

I have a feeling I've posted this prayer before, but it's so beautiful that here it is again - the Collect for the week of the fourth Sunday after Easter.

O almighty God, who alone canst order the unruly wills and affections of sinful men; Grant unto thy people, that they may love the thing which thou commandest, and desire that which thou dost promise; that so, among the sundry and manifold changes of the world, our hearts may surely there be fixed, where true joys are to be found; through Jesus Christ our Lord.

That we may bring the same to good effect

The Collect for Easter, from the Book of Common Prayer - a prayer for those of us who made good resolutions on Easter Sunday, and are now in need of some help in carrying them out:

Almighty God, who through thine only-begotten Son Jesus Christ hast overcome death, and opened unto us the gate of everlasting life; We humbly beseech thee, that, as by thy special grace preventing us thou dost put into our minds good desires, so by thy continual help we may bring the same to good effect; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Ghost, ever one God, world without end.

(preventing definition 4)

An Evening Prayer

Be present, O merciful God, and protect us through the silent hours of this night, so that we, who are wearied by the changes and chances of this fleeting world, may repose upon thy eternal changelessness; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Frailty

The Collect for the week of the Fourth Sunday after Epiphany:

O God, who knowest us to be set in the midst of so many and great dangers, that by reason of the frailty of our nature we cannot always stand upright; Grant to us such strength and protection, as may support us in all dangers, and carry us through all temptations; through Jesus Christ our Lord.



By the way, do read about St Gilbert of Sempringham today - he may not have raised geese from the dead or slain Vikings, but he was a pretty amazing man (a Lincolnshire saint! the only English founder of a religious order! imprisoned for aiding Thomas Becket! and, um... Robert Mannyng was a Gilbertine. All good reasons to be interested in St Gilbert.)

Psalm 27: Light

One of the most comforting of the psalms, appointed in the Book of Common Prayer for the fifth evening of the month. The first line is the source of the motto of the University of Oxford: Dominus illuminatio mea, the Lord is my light.


The Lord is my light and my salvation ; whom then shall I fear : the Lord is the strength of my life; of whom then shall I be afraid?

When the wicked, even mine enemies and my foes, came upon me to eat up my flesh : they stumbled and fell.

Though an host of men were laid against me, yet shall not my heart be afraid : and though there rose up war against me, yet will I put my trust in him.

One thing have I desired of the Lord, which I will require : even that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold the fair beauty of the Lord, and to visit his temple.


For in the time of trouble he shall hide me in his tabernacle : yea, in the secret place of his dwelling shall he hide me, and set me up upon a rock of stone.

And now shall he lift up mine head : above mine enemies round about me.

Therefore will I offer in his dwelling an oblation with great gladness : I will sing, and speak praises unto the Lord.

Hearken unto my voice, O Lord, when I cry unto thee : have mercy upon me, and hear me.


My heart hath talked of thee, Seek ye my face : Thy face, Lord, will I seek.

O hide not thou thy face from me : nor cast thy servant away in displeasure.

Thou hast been my succour : leave me not, neither forsake me, O God of my salvation.

When my father and my mother forsake me : the Lord taketh me up.

Teach me thy way, O Lord : and lead me in the right way, because of mine enemies.


Deliver me not over into the will of mine adversaries : for there are false witnesses risen up against me, and such as speak wrong.

I should utterly have fainted : but that I believe verily to see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.

O tarry thou the Lord's leisure : be strong, and he shall comfort thine heart ; and put thou thy trust in the Lord.

Cæli enarrant gloriam Dei...

The average Catholic Mass regularly provides a number of trials for a person who wants to worship without being distracted by infelicitous language or music. One of the hardest - for me, at any rate - is the Responsorial Psalm, which every week, without fail, is one of the oddest linguistic constructions ever to masquerade as a sacred text. This morning we were treated to a few verses from Psalm 18, which I actually managed to forget (until I got home and looked it up) is one of my favourite psalms. This is the whole thing:

The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament sheweth his handy-work.

One day telleth another, and one night certifieth another.
There is neither speech nor language, but their voices are heard among them.
Their sound is gone out into all lands, and their words into the ends of the world.
In them hath he set a tabernacle for the sun, which cometh forth as a bridegroom out of his chamber, and rejoiceth as a giant to run his course.
It goeth forth from the uttermost part of the heaven, and runneth about unto the end of it again, and there is nothing hid from the heat thereof.
The law of the Lord is an undefiled law, converting the soul; the testimony of the Lord is sure, and giveth wisdom unto the simple.
The statutes of the Lord are right, and rejoice the heart; the commandment of the Lord is pure, and giveth light unto the eyes.
The fear of the Lord is clean, and endureth for ever; the judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether.
More to be desired are they than gold, yea, than much fine gold: sweeter also than honey and the honeycomb.
Moreover, by them is thy servant taught, and in keeping of them there is great reward.
Who can tell how oft he offendeth? O cleanse thou me from my secret faults.
Keep thy servant also from presumptuous sins, lest they get the dominion over me: so shall I be undefiled, and innocent from the great offence.
Let the words of my mouth, and the meditation of my heart, be alway acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, my strength, and my redeemer.


Quite apart from anything else, this is an extraordinary piece of poetry. The version we hear in church has not a trace of its fluent elegance, its glorious imagery. We heard the flattest, most pedestrian bit of prose you can imagine. Here:

The law of the Lord is perfect, it revives the soul.
The rule of the Lord is to be trusted, it gives wisdom to the simple.

The precepts of the Lord are right, they gladden the heart.
The command of the Lord is clear, it gives light to the eyes.

The fear of the Lord is holy, abiding for ever.
The decrees of the Lord are truth and all of them just.

May the spoken words of my mouth, the thoughts of my heart,
win favour in your sight, O Lord, my rescuer, my rock.

I suppose we must leave aside the fact that this omits the first half of the psalm - that majestic picture of night and day, planet and star, all time and all creation rejoicing together in the greatness of God - and the verse about "secret sins" which I personally have always found a helpful prayer; that might not be the translator's fault. I can just about forgive the first three verses, flat and uninspiring as they are.

But what kind of unimaginative person would choose, in translating that portion of the psalm, to omit the verse about the law of the Lord being more precious than gold and sweeter than the honeycomb? That's the poetic climax of the three preceding verses; the rhetorical structure, which has been repetitive, changes to give force to the climax. That is the beautiful, memorable image which fixes the previous three verses in the mind.

Something about "the spoken words of my mouth" (as opposed to the words of the mouth which are just mimed?) is no substitute.

All the psalms at Mass are like this - every week. They're not exactly offensive, the way some bad music is; to anyone who cares about cadence, though, they grate badly. I say this as someone who has had to sing these texts as a cantor on numerous occasions, and struggled desperately to find profundity in them worth bringing out in the music. I choose the music to set the psalms I sing very carefully, but when you're stuck with banal words, there is only so much you can do to bring beauty to it. At least we heard it read this morning and not sung, because the repetition makes this an especially tough psalm to sing without sounding like a strange robotic machine (and notice how the fourth verse is shorter than all the rest? That will catch the congregation out every time. The psalm translations we have to use are full of such needless snags to comprehension). Eventually I found a Gregorian melody to sing it to, and then it was a thousand times better. But that doesn't improve the words.

Luckily we're singing the whole thing at Evensong tonight. Anglican chant. Proper dignified translation. Poetry, and praise. I will be happy.